


I’m not like most guys, because, I... have a vagina

by TheSquigglySquid



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: "sibling" bc no one is actually related, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Babies, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, FTM Harley Keener, FTM Peter Parker, Jealousy, M/M, Mpreg, No cheating, Parent Tony Stark, Pettiness galore, Polyamory, Post Mpreg, Pregnancy, Sibling Incest, Sibling Kink, Teen Pregnancy, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark has a dirty fucking mouth, Tony Stark is a bit of an asshole in this, Tony Stark is the baby daddy, Trans Harley Keener, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Pregnancy, Trans Peter Parker, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, and naturally, and then there's, but that's why we love him, eventual polyamory, feat. a Peter vs Harley rivalry, oh and how could i forget, they make up eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-02 10:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSquigglySquid/pseuds/TheSquigglySquid
Summary: “Did you think you were special, or something?” Harley Keener sneers, making Peter flinch. “Or did you actually think you were the first kid to get knocked up by Tony Stark?”





	1. Tony use a condom oh god oh no he has AirPods in he can't hear us

**Author's Note:**

> Guys I’m so dumb I looked for the vid of that guy that I stole the title from for so long so I could be as accurate as possible and it took me forever because I thought it was a fucking vine I literally looked for like 25 minutes and it was a fucking Tik Tok the whole time am I a moron or what fml fr fr BUT to be fair it was on ‘tik toks that radiate the same energy as vines’ and maybe that’s why I was confused which is a shitty excuse but still  
> anyway here’s whatever the fuck my brain vomited onto my keyboard during a four hour adderall-induced frenzy after I took my medicine later than I should’ve because I forgot and my muse hit me like a truck at one am before pulling an Avatar and vanishing when the world needed her most  
> Fair warning I may or may not be running on pure adrenaline rn or maybe that’s just the caffeine in the Excedrin I took to get rid of my sleep deprivation headache anyway the moral of the story is Hugs not Drugs young buhls and don’t you forget it Trust Me okay I graduated five days ago I know what I’m talking about don’t @ me

Every year, Stark Enterprises hosts a gala in appreciation for its employees- _all_ of them. From Pepper Potts to Mr. Diamandi the backup janitor all the way back to Tony Stark himself, every employee is invited.

 _Technically,_ Peter isn’t _technically_ an employee, he’s an intern. But SI doesn’t believe in unpaid internships, and so Peter, being on the payroll and thus ‘employed’, _technically_ , receives an invite to the gala nevertheless.

Peter hardly knows anyone there, considering he works mostly in making coffees for sleep-deprived lab researchers and taking down notes for head scientists conducting cutting-edge tech experiments that could change the world in the blink of an eye, should he ever be able to perfect that _damn_ formula (Peter himself having already figured out the problem, suggested the necessary edit, and been promptly ignored).

Don’t get him wrong, Peter _loves_ his internship. He eats up every second he gets to spend in the SI labs. He just wishes he were able to actually _work_ on things, and not just _watch._ And even then, barely that. He’s been turned away from many-a-room for not having the ‘clearance’ to see ‘classified’ information. Peter really doubts it’s all that, though. Word on the street (or the food court, rather) has it on good authority that any _real_ inventing is done by Tony Stark personally, and the research team are essentially hired busy workers at best, appointed to keep a steady stream of ‘new tech’ flowing while all the actual  _big_ ideas are formulated and perfected within the confines of Tony Stark’s own brilliant mind.

 _That’s_ what Peter wants to do, someday. Not replace Mr. Stark, oh no, never _that._ But to one day be able to work _with_ such pure, unadulterated genius? Peter could only be so lucky.

To even _meet_ Tony Stark would be, Peter is sure, the absolute _pinnacle_ of his career, the peak of his very _existence._

And to think that Tony Stark _himself_ would be present at an event he, _Peter Parker,_ possessed an _actual invite to?_ He wouldn’t miss it if it was his last day alive.

 _Which,_ it very well may be, given the rate of his current heartbeat.

The SI Gala (tonight at 7) and the time displayed on Peter’s cracked android (currently 6:12 pm) are getting eerily close to being the same time. Peter’s sitting on the metro headed towards Manhattan, feeling weirdly anxious, being in a suit as he is. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s anxious about taking the metro in a suit, because he knows for a _fact_ that people wear suits on the metro _all the time._ The fact of the matter is, though, that _he’s_ never worn a suit on the metro, and is, therefore, out of his element. He finds himself absurdly relieved when a businessman in a suit similar to his own, only in grey (not blue), boards the metro at the same time as him. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and eyes the other passengers warily, to see if he attracts any attention, being in a suit _as he is._ But no one seems to notice, or mind, and so Peter is forced to worry about something else, instead, something even more nerve-wracking than taking the metro in a suit, that being the gala that he is currently on his way to. The gala _Tony Stark_ would be attending. He might even _see_ him there. No. Peter _would_ see him there. If nothing else, he would at _least_ make sure, make _certain,_ that he saw Mr. Stark in real, actual person.

In a flurry of gut-dropping panic, Peter slaps his chest pocket, where he’d stowed his invite. The resistance of firm paper assures him that it had not been misplaced since the last time he’d triple-double checked that it was still there, in his chest pocket, where he’d left it. Then came the secondary assurances that his phone, wallet, and keys were all in attendance at their usual places as well.

Peter’s hands shake as he pulls the phone back out, typing in the four-digit pin that would unlock his phone. The newest StarkPhones only need a fingerprint or facial recognition to unlock. They are also upwards of six-hundred dollars, and Peter’s on something of a tight budget. If he saves for three months and doesn't buy a deli lunch from Delmar’s for one day a week for the rest of the month, he’ll be able to replace the screen on his current model.

May had offered to buy him a new one, of course, but she already works so many hours at the hospital and they really need everything she makes just to get by, not to mention extra expenses like Peter’s schooling and May’s Adderall. It's fine. Peter’s phone works fine, cracked screen or no- and Peter's never really gotten the hype about the newest phones anyway.

He scrolls through Instagram mindlessly, hoping to take his mind off the time, which is inching closer and closer to 7 o'clock.

The subway stops in Manhattan, and Peter gets off, allowing himself to melt into the crowd of sullen New Yorkers making their way out of the underground.

Peter takes in a big gulp of the New York City air when he finally reaches the top step. He’s never known the air to smell different, so it doesn't bother him none, no matter how other people may complain.

He doesn’t really _need_ google maps, because Stark Tower is the tallest building in the city, and can be seen even over the towering buildings to either side of him, not to mention the fact that he walks the same route to his internship every day- but it’s reassuring to have it open, at least. To have the blue line guiding him along the path he knows by heart.

When he gets there, he’s technically ‘late.’ It’s 7:03.

It’s such a relief to see people already showing up, though, that it doesn’t feel late.

There’s a line at the steps, and Peter finds himself scanning the groups of people and comparing their outfits to his.

By the time he’s made it to the front of the line, he’s already self-deprecated himself into an unworthiness unfit to step over the threshold of SI, let alone carry an invite. Every wear in his dress shoes and loose thread at his sleeve feels like a blatant insult, and he finds himself thinking obsessively of the bottom button of his dress shirt, which is significantly loose and dangling, tucked into the waistband of his slacks. He checks to reassure himself that it is still there, safely out of sight.

“Invite?” The door security prompts, and Peter flushes down to his toes as he rushes to fumble it out of his chest pocket.

The man nods him in with a “Welcome to Stark Industries,” and Peter stumbles inside, dazed.

It’s not how he imagined it in his mind to look, which is another cause for instant anxiety. In his mind, he always imagines that he’ll be able to _see_ where Mr. Stark is standing, but, in reality, men and women tower over him, effectively blocking his sight. Mr. Stark could be _anywhere,_ and Peter would have no idea.

A butler-looking waiter of some sort offers a drink tray to Peter, who takes one without question. He assumes that its champagne, being golden and bubbly as is described in all sorts of literature, but he’s never actually _seen_ it, or even seen a _picture_ of it, and so really- he can’t be _sure._ But if it is, and his best guess at the moment is that it _is,_ then it is very, very illegal for him to drink any. Five years too illegal, to be certain. And yet, he seriously doubts there will be any consequences or repercussions, authoritative or otherwise. Whoever heard of getting shitfaced off _champagne?_

And so Peter sips at the strange, bubbling fluid, and, finding it to be not very good, quickly downs the rest.

Another butler-waiter-guy comes swooping out of nowhere to offer him a second, and Peter is far, far too shy to decline.

The second and third glasses follow the first in the same way, and Peter decides that sitting down is definitely a good idea.

And where to sit but the nice open bar off to one side? Really, Peter had only meant to sit. But then the bartender had asked what Peter wanted and Peter had asked for a Margherita, because wasn’t that what you ordered at a party? Something fruity?

The Margherita was good except for the alcohol, and Peter felt anxious when another was slid next to the newly emptied one. He hadn’t _asked_ for another, did they really expect for him to drink and drink and _drink?_ Nevertheless, he slid it closer and began to sip from the paper straw out of some misguided sense of obligation.

“Hi, can I get a dry martini, _lots_ of olives?”

Peter nearly snorts Margarita through his nose, a feat he only manages to escape by choking it down his throat instead, which results in _lots_ of coughing.

“Whoa there,” Tony Stark says, hitting Peter’s back while he coughs. “You okay?”

Peter tries to nod, but he’s still all choked up from inhaling tropical alcohol. “Yeah,” he wheezes, wishing he could die. Why him? Why.

“First time drinking?” He teases, though his eyes are scrutinizing Peter’s face, taking in his youth.

“Yeah,” Peter admits, deciding to be honest. “Well, not my _first_ time. My first time was- earlier- with the- the champagne…”

“Uh huh,” the billionaire says. “Hey Tom?” He calls the bartender. “How about water for the kid?”

“My name is Keith,” the bartender says as he complies.

“I’m sorry to be a bother, Mr. Stark, it’s such an honor to meet-”

“Not a bother,” Stark interrupts. “We’ll exchange pleasantries in a second, let me make sure you’re alright first, okay kid? Just sit tight. God, you’re drunk. How much did you say you had earlier?”

“I don’t know,” Peter’s voice is small. Is he really so drunk? He doesn’t _feel-_ but then, he doesn’t really feel entirely himself, either, now does he? This is so embarrassing. “I’m sorry,” he sniffs.

“Hey, hey,” Stark soothes, alarmed. “That’s okay, I told you, it’s fine. It’s fine, okay?”

Peter can’t _stop_ the tears that roll down his cheeks at that, or else he _would’ve._ “Okay,” he whimpers, but it’s really not okay, because his shoulders are shaking a little and he’s trying not to _cry_ cry but he’s still _crying._

“Oh, God.” Stark wraps an awkward arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulls him closer, letting the boy shield his face in his chest. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah? Yeah.”

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry, I’m such a bother, I’m sorry,” Peter babbles the whole way out, through a side door that neither guests nor staff are permitted through.

“Hey kid, I told you, enough with the apologizing. It’s _fine._ I needed an excuse to get away from that god-awful party anyway.”

“W-Why?”

“Because, young man, contrary to popular belief, social events give me anxiety, and I’m already going to need more than one drink to bounce back from this.

“Where are we going?”

“To get a drink.”

“Again?”

Stark sighs. “Correction. _I’m_ getting a drink. Your job is to let me take care of you so that when Pepper comes to sniff me out, I’ve got an excuse for leaving.”

Peter hopes that Mr. Stark doesn’t notice the way he shivers at _take care of you._ Then again, he hopes he _does._

“Remind me how old you are again, young man?”

“I never told you how old I was,” Peter hums.

“Right,” Stark huffs, dropping the question. “Now, you work for me, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an intern.”

“And I pay you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good. Now, what do you do? As my intern, I mean. Just curious.”

“Well I’m s’posed to observe the research scientists and hypoth- hypostra- hypothrasize experimpents, but I mostly just get coffee and take notes for the data and whatnot, I'm sorta like a glorified lab assistant.”

“Really.”

“Hm.”

“I’ll have to look into that.”

The elevator dings, and Peter finds himself being shuffled into a quiet, dimly lit living area that could quite possibly be Tony Stark’s private place of residence. _Fuck,_ Peter isn’t ready for this.

Stark drops Peter off on the couch before making his way to the bar, pouring himself something with ice cubes that tinkle as he downs the first glass.

“Now,” Stark begins, pouring out a second. “You never told me your name.”

“Peter Parker, sir.”

“Hm. Tony Stark. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Peter.”

“Likewise, sir.”

“Tell me, Mr. Parker,” Stark says, pouring and then draining a third glass before coming over to sit next to Peter. “How were you enjoying yourself, prior to our little bar altercation?”

Peter gulps. “It was… nice.”

Stark gives Peter a tight smile. “You don’t have to lie to me, son. If _I_ didn't like it, I certainly don't expect _you_ to. It's okay, lay it on me”

Peter shivers under Mr. Stark’s heavy gaze. “I suppose I was just a little nervous.”

“There we go,” Stark nods, appreciative. He claps a strong hand to Peter’s shoulder, slides it along the slope of it to fit around the back of Peter’s neck, lightly squeezing. “Good boy.”

The speed at which Peter's body reacts to the simple touch and those words is downright embarrassing. His heartbeat picks up, his body breaks out in goosebumps, and the pit of his groin pools with heat. Peter slowly squeezes his legs together, biting off a gasp.  _Oh my God, oh my God, he just called me a-_

“Something the matter, Mr. Parker?”

Peter shakes his head. “No, Mr. Stark. Nothing. It’s just that I- I like that.”

The hand squeezes again, firmer. “This?”

Peter gasps again, head falling back, toes curling. His chest rises and falls frantically. “Yes,” he whines. He's so overwhelmed, his whole body is reacting to the other man's very presence. “And- and when you call me a-”

“Good boy,” Tony finishes, his voice gravelly, his eyes dark and predatory. His breathing has slowed into a shaky sort of forced control. “Are you a good boy, Peter?”

“Yes- yes Mr. Stark-”

The hand at the back of his neck squeezes harder.

“Yeah, Pete? You gonna be a good boy for me?”

Peter whimpers, hips bucking, his breathing erratic. His heart beats mercilessly against his chest, a heavy flush settles over his whole body, making him pant. “Mr. Stark,” he whimpers.

Stark releases his grasp at the nape of Peter’s neck, forcing out another slow, steadying exhale. “How old did you say you were?” He hesitates, eyes calculating.

“I didn’t,” Peter repeats, meeting the man’s eyes defiantly.

“I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?” He groans, sounding desperate.

“Oh god, I hope not,” Peter gasps.

Tony Stark kisses him, hard and fierce, lips bruising and wet, pressing his whole body into the couch. Again and again, he kisses Peter’s lips until they’re swollen and red and wet, over and over, licking over the opening of his mouth until he parts his lips so he can lick inside. That, too, he does over, and over, and over, stroking his tongue into his mouth, pushing in, and in, and in. Every drag of Tony Stark’s tongue sets his nerves on fire, tensing every muscle in his body, coiling and hot, gathering in a place far below his stomach. The room is filled with the sound of wet kissing and Peter’s gasping ‘ah, ah ah’s’ as he’s barely allowed to breathe.

Then Stark is pulling off Peter’s tie and fumbling with the buttons on Peter’s dress shirt and Peter remembers that bottom fucking button, dangling loose from his shirt, hidden in the waistband of his pants. In a rush of panic, because _‘what if Mr. Stark sees the button?’_ Peter rips the dress shirt open, recklessly, like it’s something replaceable in a desperate attempt to keep that stupid loose button forever secret from his once-in-a-lifetime fuck opportunity.

Mr. Stark moans at the perceived enthusiasm and yanks both the dress shirt and suit jacket off of Peter’s shoulders, his fingers finding Peter’s nipples and stroking.

“Ah!” Peter whines, squirming, his head snapping back as he arcs his spine.

“You like that, baby?” Mr. Stark growls, pinching, pulling.

“Ah! Y-yes! Yes, sir!” He sobs, his head tossing from side to side.

“Good boy,” he praises huskily, bending his head down and licking one, pulling it into his mouth and sucking hard.

“Oh! Oh, ohhhh…” Peter moans, hips bucking again.

“Such a good boy,” Stark hums, moving to the other swollen bud as his fingers unfasten Peter’s belt buckle.

“Daddy,” Peter gasps in a moment of recklessness, squirming helplessly.

Stark outright moans at that, his fingers bruising into Peter's hips as he presses his groin into Peter's thigh, rolling all his weight onto his crotch.

“Oh my God,” he croaks brokenly.

“Daddy, please,” Peter sobs, encouraged by Stark’s reaction, canting his hips up in aborted thrusts, desperate for contact.

“Shh, baby, daddy’s got you,” Stark growls, his eyes darkening. “Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.”

Peter shivers at Mr. Stark’s words, lifting his hips so he can slip his pants off his legs and toss them away.

When Tony Stark pushes Peter’s creamy thighs apart, his eyes widen jaw goes slack.

Peter blushes. He hadn’t warned Tony at all about what to expect, and it _was_ a little surprising, considering…

He looks, sounds, dresses like a boy. There’s no reason for him to expect, or even _want..._

“Sorry, daddy,” Peter whispers, trying to shut his legs, flushing with humiliation, eyes stinging.

But Mr. Stark’s hands move, viper quick, prying them back open. “Stop,” he growls. “Let daddy look.”

Peter _whimpers,_ all the muscles of his lower body tensing and trembling and _clenching_ , and Mr. Stark’s face is _right there,_ he can see, he can _see,_ and he’s forcing his legs open wider so he can watch Peter convulsing and dripping down _there_ and he’s never felt such an intense heat in his life, it’s making him and quiver and twitch and _throb_ and it’s all right there on display for Tony Stark to see.

“Oh, _baby,_ ” Mr. Stark coos, almost reverent, tearing his eyes away to meet Peter’s teary gaze. His eyes are so dark they’re black, and he looks _hungry._ “Aren’t you just _precious?_ ” He simpers, and then leans forward to press a wet kiss to Peter’s vagina.

“Oh my God,” Peter sobs. “Oh my God.”

“Such a good boy,” he croons, kissing it again, “such a _sweetheart,_ aren’t you baby,” and again, “oh, aren’t you simply,” again, “ _divine,_ ” and again, “I could just,” Tony pulls Peter’s clit into his mouth and _sucks,_ pulling off with a wet pop, “eat you right up, couldn’t I?”

Peter’s wordless by this point, sobbing and crying out a meaningless stream of nonsense and squirming frantically.

“Daddy,” Peter sobs, his head jolting back and his hips rutting up as Mr. Stark kisses and licks the boy’s cunt. “Oh, daddy, daddy, _ah, ah, AH-!”_

“Daddy’s gonna eat you out, boy,” Mr. Stark snarls, his tongue sweeping up over, and over, and over.

“Oh my God, please, please, ah!”

“You gonna come, baby? You gonna come while daddy licks your pussy?”

“No- wait-” Peter grabs Stark’s hair and pushes his head off, twisting his hips away desperately. “Can’t come yet, please daddy, please, wait-!”

Tony pulls off with a wet sucking noise and Peter’s hips jerk at the stimulation.

“What’s wrong, little boy?” Mr. Stark growls, and _God,_ his face is wet with his saliva and Peter's fluids and it looks absolutely _animal_ and like the hottest thing Peter’s seen in his _life._

"I want you inside me, want you to come inside me, please,” Peter begs, hips rutting mindlessly.

“Okay baby,” Stark agrees, fumbling with his zipper, pulling his cock out and stroking. “C’mere, lay down for daddy, here.” Peter lays down in the couch cushions on his back for Mr. Stark and spreads his legs as wide as the space allows. Stark crawls between them, spreading them wider still, the angle forcing Peter to lift his hips. He grips his dick in one hand, holds Peter’s hip steady in the other. He drags the head of his cock up and down Peter's lips until he's sobbing and begging before starting to push it against his opening.

“Yes, daddy, put it inside,” Peter gasps, his face pinching in concentration, eyes clenched shut.

“Here you go baby, just for you sweetheart,” Mr. Stark moans, thrusting his hips forward bit by bit.

Peter jerks at the pet name, his pussy clenching over and over in excitement and anticipation, throbbing at the intrusion. When the man finally starts to slide in deep, Peter wails, hips lifting higher yet to accept the intrusion. His teeth grit and he breathes in short bursts through his nose.

“It’s so- big!” He gasps through clenched teeth.

“You feel that, baby? You feel me in your cunt? You gonna squeeze my cock with your little pussy, doll?”

Peter’s eyes roll back, he trembles and shakes at Tony’s words. His fists are white knuckled around handfuls of couch leather that creaks in his grip.

“Please, please, please,” is all he can gasp out until Mr. Stark starts fucking him.

“C’mere,” Mr. Stark growls, snapping his hips the rest of the way forward.

Peter groans, sucking in pained gasps through his teeth, every muscle as taut as cable wire.

“C’mere baby boy, tell daddy what you want.”

“Harder, please, harder,” Peter sobs, holding his legs open for Mr. Stark.

“Yeah? You want it harder?”

“Please! Please!”

“You want me to fuck your cunt til you’re bleeding? Is that what you want?”

“Yes daddy, yes! Yes! Oh!”

Mr. Stark’s thrust get so hard and rough that Peter’s cheeks pour with tears as he feels his climax building. He _is_ bleeding, he’s sure of that.

“Yes! Yes! I’m so close, daddy!”

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes! Yes! I’m gonna! Oh! _Oh!_ ” Peter comes, his body clenching and spasming over and over, and distantly he realizes that Mr. Stark has come as well, inside him, like he asked. “Thank you,” he sobs. “Thank you thank you thank you.”

Mr. Stark presses gentle kisses to his lips and cheeks. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you, Peter?” He hums.

Peter can only sniff and nod weakly in response.

“Go to sleep, honey,” he instructs, sliding out and off of Peter.

“Where you goin’?” Peter asks in a small voice, eyes wide and anxious.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, brushing back Peter’s bangs. “I’ll be so close you won’t even miss me.”

“Miss you already,” Peter mumbles, letting himself relax back into the cushions as exhaustion claims him.

“Goodnight, sweet boy.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Stark,” Peter hums, eyes drooping, the combination of alcohol and post-coital bliss finally pulling him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, I’m an expert on all things sex and alcohol (That was sarcasm I was being sarcastic don’t listen to me I have no idea what I’m doing (I spelled Margarita Margherita and Google docs literally just fucking let me without saying a word like letting AO3 be my fail-safe for spellcheck has GOT to be a new low for me))
> 
> I'm a review slut leave me a review and I'll overthink my entire everything bc I VALUE your words and opinions to a point that borders on ridiculous (also i suck at tagging so if there's something I forgot to tag PLS tell me)
> 
> That's All, Folks- Squid


	2. Peter's uterus pulls a lil sneaky on us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything u need to know is in the chapter title my friends (:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I REALLY wanted to put smut in this chapter, because it sounded like that's what y'all really liked, but no matter how I turned it I just COULDN'T find an appropriate time so… this chap is pretty fuckin dry sex-wise but I cant cut it out cuz it's PLOT and it sucks but i have no choice. Anyway, next chapter, I PROMISE, has sex. That's something you can bet on. (I literally already wrote it don’t tell anyone its a surprise) Pls forgive, pls. Paciencia, por favor  
> WARNING : invasive (totally non sexual) medical examination that does include a blood draw if that makes u queasy, also a bit of transphobia

Peter DOES miss Mr. Stark, when he wakes up, because he is absolutely fucking gone.

_ And why the fuck would he not be? _ It’s Tony Stark. The whole dine-and-dash scene is kind of his M.O.

Which Peter  _ knows,  _ Peter  _ knows that,  _ and he is  _ totally okay with it,  _ because he  _ knew it was going to happen  _ and he is  _ okay,  _ okay, he’s  _ fine. _

“Good morning, Mr. Parker,” Jarvis greets. “It is currently 3:45 am in New York City, 64℉, partly cloudy with a chance of rain later this evening.”

“Cool, cool,” Peter mumbles groggily, searching around blindly for his underclothes.

He’s putting off opening his eyes again for as long as humanly possible, because his skull is absolutely  _ splitting open  _ in pain.

“May I assist you in any way, Mr. Parker?” Jarvis asks politely. Despite the awful aches and pains he feels as he moves around, a part of Peter is geeking out about having Tony Stark’s AI talk to him. Like,  _ how sick is that?  _ Some of the greatest coding ever done is talking to him as he sits in Tony Stark’s penthouse overlooking the entirety of New York City. How can he just wake up and boom, this is his life now? Oh, he’s  _ itching  _ to get a better feel for what the AI can do. 

“Yeah, can you tell me what the Metro’s running to Queens, right now?” He suggests casually, locating his other sock in the meanwhile.

“Certainly,” Jarvis says, pulling up a hologram of the New York City Transit map, highlighting arrival and boarding times for the quickest subway to Queens Village.  _ Sick, _ Peter grins.  _ This is so cool. _

“Ahh, thank you,” Peter grunts, squinting at the map as he wiggles into his pants, flinching at the  _ severe  _ soreness between his legs. “I think I can make the 4:15, what do you say?” Ask the AI for it’s opinion, smart move, Parker.

“I calculate the travel time from Stark Tower to the nearest Metro station to be approximately a fifteen minute walk.”

“I think I can swing that.”

“Unadvisable, sir.”

“Huh?” Wow. AIs can be contradictory, now?

“A quick medical reading scan would suggest that you have suffered severe tearing to your hymen and vaginal walls. Rigorous exercise should be avoided to allow time for proper healing. A fifteen minute walk could be detrimental to your health. I will arrange for a taxi-” Whoa  _ what? _

“No!” Peter yelps. “No taxis! Do you have  _ any idea  _ what the going rate is for a taxi from Manhattan to Queens?”  _ Artificial  _ Intelligence for a  _ reason,  _ no doubt- what human being would  _ ever  _ suggest a  _ taxi _ as a good method for inter-borough travel? And who the fuck gave the AI permission to  _ scan  _ him? This is all getting to be very invasive.

“$56.63, not including Federal tax.”

“Exactly! I can’t afford that!”

“I will have it arranged as a company expense-”

“No!” Peter squeals. “No that’s okay, I’m just gonna take the subway. I already have a Metro card.”

“Taking the subway at this time is inadvisable.”

“It’s fine. Thank you Jarvis. Please don’t tell Mr. Stark I’m leaving or- or anything else about me. Let’s just forget this whole thing ever happened, okay?”

“Very well, sir. Please do not forget your keys, they are under the couch.”

Wow.  _ That  _ is freaky.  _ How  _ much is the AI supposed to know???

“Thank you,” Peter huffs, grimacing as he bends over to grab them. “Ow ow ow,” he mutters, straightening, flinching as his head screams in protest against the up-and-down motion necessary to grab his keys.

“Thanks for the help, Jarvis, it was really cool talking to you, maybe we should chat again sometime when I’m sober. I’d love to learn more about your coding.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jarvis says, sounding very flattered for a robot.

“Anytime.”

The elevator slides open and Peter steps in. It’s a long, long way down, but the elevator operates at an unusually high speed, and yet still manages to be one of the smoothest elevator rides he’s been on in his life.

The elevator stops on the 82nd floor, and Peter shuffles to one side to stay out of the way of whoever could possibly be boarding at four in the fucking morning. God, it’s early.

Then, Obadiah Stane steps inside.

“Oh!” He huffs in surprise, stopping for a moment before stepping inside to stand next to Peter. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be on Tony Stark’s private elevator, especially at this time of night,” he says amicably, but the unsaid words are clear.  _ Explain yourself. _ .

“Sorry,” Peter mumbles nervously. “I was just trying to leave.” And then, it feels necessary to add; “I didn’t know it was private.”

“That’s okay, son,” Obadiah chuckles, clapping Peter on the shoulder in a way that fills him with unease. Not like how Mr. Stark’s hand had felt. “Honest mistake. Where were you coming from, just now?”

Peter’s eyes drift towards the penthouse button as he tries to figure out an appropriate way to say  _ Tony Stark’s private living quarters. _

“...I see,” Stane says after a moment, when Peter still hasn’t answered. “You must be the flavor of the night.”

Peter flushes from his scalp to his toes. He stares deliberately at the floor and tries to ignore the fact that he has just been blatantly insulted by the second most powerful person in the building, which also happens to be his place of employment.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Stane chuckles. “It’s not often Stark brings boys around. You must’ve been something special.”

Peter’s not sure if that’s supposed to make him feel better, but he  _ is  _ pretty sure that it absolutely makes him feel  _ worse. _

“You know, I was going to have Ms. Potts escort you out in another few hours, but it seems you’ve beat me to it.” He gives Peter a thoughtful look. “That’s a first.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Peter says quietly.

Stane snorts.  _ “You’re  _ not a bother. Bothersome people don’t worry about whether they’re being bothersome, Peter. They just are.” He looks at Peter with those uncanny, calculating blue eyes. “Remember that.”

“Thank you,” Peter says, meekly. He doesn’t know what else to say.

But there  _ is  _ something he needs to say, and he doesn’t realize it until that moment, when the elevator reaches the first floor, when it hits him absolutely out of the blue. “Mr. Stane” Peter gasps, freezing in his tracks, eyes wide.

Stane frowns. “Something wrong?”

“I think so.” Peter doesn’t want to have a panic attack. He doesn’t want to have a panic attack,  _ here. _

Stane shifts, tilting his head. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s- we didn’t- I just realized that- that we didn’t use a condom.” Peter is  _ trying to  _ take calming breaths, but the sense of impending doom is making him feel like there are iron bars wrapped around his ribcage and so he  _ can’t _ .

Stane blinks, slowly.

“Do you have an STD?” He asks bluntly.

Peter flushes, mortified. “What? No! I’m a- that is, I  _ was  _ a…” Peter doesn’t want to  _ say  _ it, and he  _ certainly  _ doesn’t want to say it to Stane, who is essentially his co-employer.

Realization crosses Stane’s features as he understands, though, and his face becomes sympathetic. “Was this your first time?” He probes gently, his tone conveys understanding, but there’s something off in his tone, like he’s playing at sincerity.

Peter can’t answer. He also can’t blush anymore than he already is,  _ not  _ for lack of trying. He’s so embarrassed, and he’s so  _ scared. _

“Oh boy,” he sighs, again finding Peter’s silence to be all the answer he needs. “Tony, Tony, Tony, “ he murmurs, shaking his head sadly, almost fondly.

“What?” Peter demands. Is he  _ missing  _ something here? What’s  _ funny  _ about this?

“I hope you found  _ some  _ enjoyment, in that case,” is all he says.

“I- wha-” Peter sputters enraged.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Stane sooths, rubbing Peter’s shoulder in a way that honestly creeps him out. “Listen, buddy,” he begins, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulder, trapping him. “We have Tony tested regularly, to make sure he doesn’t catch anything… unpleasant. We’re very careful about that. But if you’re worried about something being transmitted, like I am, then it won’t be from Tony.”

Peter realizes, then, that the elevator is climbing towards the 64th floor.

“Where are we going, Mr. Stane?”

“We need to have you tested, just a precaution, probably nothing to worry about. Think of it like a checkup.”

Peter pulls away. What the  _ fuck? _

“N-No, I don’t want to do that. I- you didn’t let me finish earlier, I wasn’t worried about STDs at all.”

Stane chuckles. “No? Well I’m glad about that, but unfortunately, this is the real world, and we can’t all afford to be so carefree. I’m sure you understand.”

Peter wants to scream in frustration. He’s not  _ getting it, _ if Stane would just  _ let Peter talk- _

“This is our stop,” Stane singsongs, guiding Peter out of the elevator and through a room with a lot of white dividers and hospital beds- both occupied and unoccupied. Stane leads him to one of the cubicles and gestures for him to take a seat on the bed before turning away and disappearing.

Peter slowly raises his hands to his hair and tries not to  _ scream. _ He’s shaking hard, he’s overwhelmed, there’s panic coiling in his throat, he can  _ feel  _ it there, choking him. He winds his fingers into the sweaty curls and squeezes, tries to let the sting of his scalp ground him. He focuses on the feeling, tugging sharply when he feels himself sinking.

It’ll be  _ fine,  _ it’ll be  _ fine,  _ this would be  _ okay, _ okay, it’ll be  _ fine. _

****

He tries to imagine that this will be funny in a few years, but he can’t quite get a grasp on that concept and switches back to thinking about nothing. Or his chemistry final, which he hasn’t even put together a review packet for, or even started organizing his notes.

****

Okay,  _ not  _ helping. Peter tries to get his breathing back under control, releasing the death grip on his hair and tilting his head back. Breathe in, and out, and in, and out.

****

It’s really quite, and that’s probably why Peter’s heart beats so loud it drowns out the sound of the doctor as he turns the corner looking  _ pissed. _

****

Stane is nowhere to be seen.

****

“You’re the kid?” He huffs, and Peter sees he’s not so much  _ angry  _ as he is sleep-deprived, and Peter is almost certain that he was woken up to come have Peter tested.

****

“Uhm,” Peter whispers, not sure how to respond.

****

“I need you to change into this,” he tosses an open-backed hospital gown onto the space next to Peter “and then fill this out,” the doctor grunts, thrusting a clipboard under Peter’s nose and busying himself at the little station against one side of the cubicle.

****

Peter undresses quickly, eyeing the doctor’s back nervously as he shuffles out of his dress clothes. God, was it only a few hours ago that he was worrying about taking the metro in that very suit? And now here it is, on the floor for the second time tonight. And here  _ he  _ is, about to be tested for STDs. Peter tries not to think about it too hard. He’s barely handling this as it is.

****

He ties the ties as best he can, but they feel flimsy and no matter how he sits and arranges the gown around himself, he feels exposed.

****

Peter, resigned to the discomfort and determined to just get this whole thing over with, slides the blue plastic Bic pen from the clip and uncaps it, scanning over the form. It’s only a single page, nothing he can’t handle, right?

****

Name, address, email, phone number, preferred method of contact, age range (he checks 18-21 because it doesn’t have a lower option), sex, insurance carrier (he’s not sure, he knows he and May are recieving some type of ObamaCare but it’s really  _ not  _ a very good health care plan except in theory, their health insurance is a joke), prescriptions and medications, etc. It’s not  _ horribly  _ invasive, but Peter doesn’t want to do it.

He does it anyway. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a choice. Is this  _ legal?  _ If it isn’t, how will he know?

Peter suspects that this is the kind of thing people call their lawyers over, but Peter doesn’t have a lawyer, and anyway, it’s four in the morning. He could call the police, but he’s not sure what he would say, and it feels like overkill even if he really  _ wants  _ to.

This feels like something a lot bigger than him, something too big for him to fight by himself so he fills out all the questions and lets the doctor record his height and weight and calculate his BMI.

And then, he pulls on latex gloves, and says, “Now.”

So this is it, then.

“The first tests are fairly easy, I need a cheek swab and a urine sample.” The doctor tilts Peter’s chin to open his mouth and drags a long wooden cotton swab along the inside of his cheek. It’s not something he would expect to be painful, but it  _ is,  _ the way the doctor  _ digs  _ the swab into the soft flesh of his cheek  _ seems  _ a little excessive but Peter doesn’t  _ know, _ he’s never had a cheek swabbed before.

He’s also never had to give a urine sample before, and it’s a little humiliating to have to leave the privacy of the cubicle to go use the bathroom. He hopes everybody who isn’t a nurse is still asleep and won’t see him padding along barefoot in a revealing hospital gown with a urine cup in his hand.

He’s so stressed that he has to actually  _ coax  _ himself into peeing by letting the sink run over the palm of his one hand while he holds the cup in the other.

The sink trick was something he remembers his mother doing for him a long, long, long time ago when he was still being potty trained. She would make sure he peed before she put him to bed every night to keep him from wetting the bed, even if he ‘didn’t need to go.’ The sensation of the warm water over his palm never failed to convince his bladder that he needed to pee, and he’s impressed and relieved to find that it still works, all these years later.

By the time he’s returned to the doctor, urine sample clutched awkwardly in his fist, he’s setting up some sort of… machine thing.

“You got? Good. We need to draw blood, next. Just a few vials. Have a seat, please.

Peter, again, really wants to argue against them  _ drawing blood, _ but ultimately decides to remain compliant. He just wants this to  _ end. _

The needle looks massive in his arm, and pinches something awful. The way it sucks the blood out of his forearm is  _ freaky _ , this whole situation is  _ freaky,  _ Peter just wants to go  _ home. _

Then again, who  _ wouldn’t,  _ in this strange, bizarre situation? 

The doctor doesn’t try to make anything any easier, either, as he fills the vials and puts them away and pulls the needle back out and sticks a bandage over the bruised puncture wound.

The doctor gestures for Peter to lay on his back and Peter does, shifting awkwardly on the crinkly paper and trying not to rip it as he settles.

“I have to examine your genitalia, now. Please try to relax,” The doctor says.

Which, of course, makes Peter _not fucking relax._ _He did_ ** _not_** _sign up for this._

He lifts Peter’s hospital gown and his eyes pop open  _ wide _ .

“What did you check under the sex column?” He coughs, clearly shocked.

“Female,” Peter huffs. He’s not so stupid he doesn’t understand the difference between sex and gender.

“Oh,” he mutters, looking a little disoriented. “Alright. No reason to delay, then. Let’s just get this over with.”

He parts Peter’s legs to get a more proper look when his eyes pop  _ again. _

“Wow,” he looks a little sickened. “Stark really took his time with you, did he?”

“What? What do you mean by that?” Peter struggles to see what has the doctor looking so mortified. From what he can tell, there’s a  _ lot  _ of blood down there.

“I mean that there is clearly a lot of damage to your vaginal walls, and from what I can see of your hymen, as well. There really should  _ not  _ be this much blood.”

“I wanted him to be rough.”

“You _should_ want to keep such _delicate muscle tissue_ ** _intact_** but I digress. I suppose women are willing to experience almost anything, as far as Tony Stark is concerned.”

“I’m not a woman.”

“Of course,” the doctor dismisses absently, swabbing something from the rim of his vaginal canal. “You should  _ really  _ consult a gynecologist about this, though.”

Peter glares.

“Well, the exam is complete. You’re welcome to change, now.”

He drops the second swab into a plastic tube and hastily labels it before putting it away.

“We’ll contact you within three weeks if we find any problems with the test results.”

“What is there aren’t any problems?” Peter probes.

“Then we won’t contact you.” The doctor smiles tightly. “You’re free to leave.” And then he walks out, leaving Peter to find his own way outside.

The 4:15 metro has come and gone by the time Peter makes his way onto the elevator, and he begins googling the subway times blearily as he waits on the elevator. It’s almost five, now. There’s a train at 5:08 and another at 5:26, with slight variations to those digits depending on which station he takes.

He’s not the only one riding the metro in a suit, because the business men all have to be at work early. He’s also not the only one riding the metro with a hangover, because it  _ is  _ Saturday morning, by now.

He’s pretty sure he’s the only person who’s  _ both,  _ though, and for that, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

He stares at the floor, ignoring any sideways glances directed at him and fiddles with the back of his phone, popping it on and off, and on and off. He doesn’t have a case for it, but it’s an android, so it doesn’t really need one. Honestly, it says more about him than about the phone that he had managed to crack it at all.

_ What if I lose my job? _ Peter wonders.  _ I slept with my boss. Isn’t that, like, against company policy? _

Peter hopes not, because, if that  _ were _ the case, he probably wouldn’t be the only person getting laid off. He knows for a  _ fact  _ that Monica from Accounting had gone to HR about Tiffany Herrera, claiming to have seen her having sex with Tony Stark in the break room while he was supposed to be in a meeting. It later turned out that Monica had actually been covering her own tracks, as later security footage revealed that  _ she  _ had been the one to seduce the CEO into skipping the meeting. And  _ then,  _ it turned out that Tiffany really  _ had  _ had sex with Tony Stark, only it wasn’t in the break room, it was behind the copier. That had been a trying day in the office, and was all people talked about for the entire week that followed. People still brought it up.

Peter, being a coffee-fetching boy first and foremost, had spent a lot of time on the break room floor and had witnessed all the drama unfold firsthand. He will never forget the look on Monica’s face when  _ she  _ got called into HR shortly after Tiffany’s exit. Tyler Watts from sales had  _ actually  _ been the one to snitch, though. Peter’s pretty sure he might be the only one who knows that, because he’s the only one who knows that Tyler was using the drama between Tiffany and Monica to distract from his own escapades with the billionaire in a janitorial closet during lunch break.

Peter’s not really sure why he’s dwelling on this all  _ now _ , except to give himself a sharp reminder that Tony Stark is a big time slut and he should  _ not  _ become attached to the way he had called him  _ baby  _ so reverently in any way, shape, or form. He’s not  _ special, _ he’s just another employee that got lucky with the big boss, and the sooner he accepts  _ that,  _ the sooner he can move on.

The subway pulls into the station closest to his house around six, and by the time he limps all the way to his apartment it's like 6:30. May will be back from work by now, but only barely, and the last thing Peter wants is for her to worry about him even more than she already does, so he climbs into his window through the fire escape and collapses on the top bunk. He never sleeps up here, but he’s starting to reconsider the reason. It’s nice and secluded in the top bunk, and when May pokes her head in to check on him, she can’t even tell that he’s still in last night’s suit.

And  _ that,  _ is how it entirely, completely, and ridiculously escaped the notice of  _ every single adult _ even  _ remotely  _ aware of the situation that Peter had had unprotected sex with a man three times his age without any birth control or Plan B to counteract any  _ obvious  _ repercussions.

The doctor never calls Peter back, and so Peter is safe to assume that there were no complications with any of the tests. He was sure there wouldn’t be, but at the same time, he dreaded checking his email in the weeks that followed that horrendous exam.

Peter’s pretty sure he’s the  _ only one  _ who realizes that there is a chance that he’s pregnant with Tony Stark’s baby, and he has  _ no idea  _ what to do about it. It’s  _ way  _ too late for Plan B, that ship had sailed and he had waved it off cheerfully.

It’s not that Peter  _ wants  _ to be pregnant, necessarily. In fact, he’s pretty sure he isn’t, anyways. He’s taking  _ testosterone,  _ for Chrissakes. That’s a pretty effective form of birth control, in and of itself. But, if there’s even a  _ chance  _ that he become pregnant by  _ Tony Stark, _ the longest running Sexiest Man Alive to date? Who  _ would  _ turn that down? Not to mention the  _ cha-ching  _ from that child support (hey, he’ll always be a hustler). Besides, Peter loves babies. They’re adorable.

But, back to  _ reality, _ Peter’s fairly certain he’s  _ not  _ pregnant. One, he displays absolutely zero symptoms. No sickness, no heightened sense of smell, no bloating, and although he doesn’t have a period to be able to tell for  _ sure,  _ he’s still pretty sure. But still, he  _ could’ve  _ been, and its a fantasy he still likes to entertain, from time to time.

And  _ then  _ he’s sitting at the lab handing Dr. Falcon a coke zero from the vending machine downstairs when he  _ swears to God,  _ something in his stomach  _ fucking moves. _

That’s the moment Peter finally realizes that he’s basically been fucked over by his own damn uterus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, I would just like to say that I have no idea what’s going on anymore. Apparently this fic now contains Obadiah Stane, so I guess I’ll have to fucking tag that now. This story is no longer in my control. Like, you think you know what you want to happen, and then you just… idk. Get possessed by Satan or some shit. No seriously, who let Stane be a part of this?
> 
> Anyway... please review so that I can experience a brief but intense attention high (please im so desperate for feedback)
> 
> Until next time -Squid


	3. That wasn't very Cash Money of you, Mr. Stane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna say that I love yous all and ALSO (bc I literally didn’t know this until I read it in the notes of someone else’s fic and if it helped me mb it can help one of yous) IF YOU WANT TO RECEIVE NOTIFICATIONS ABOUT WHEN A WORK IS UPDATED all you have to do is (and u need an account for this) just scroll to the top of this page, where all the buttons are, and click on the one that says 'Subscribe.' (God, I feel like a fucking YouTuber).
> 
> Anyway, here’s a wild fucking roller coaster ride of a chapter.

Peter tries to be level-headed about this whole thing. He _knew_ that this was a possibility, even if a small one. He had even _liked_ the possibility, as a concept.

Except, now… it’s real.

And Peter isn’t… really sure what to do.

Reality media and literature would have him rushing off to the nearest drugstore by now, buying as many different pregnancy tests as are in stock and peeing on all of them in a CVS public restroom and then sobbing uncontrollably when every single one is positive. To be honest, the trope is one of his biggest pet peeves. For one thing, that has literally never happened to anybody. Who the fuck is in that much denial that they feel the need to buy all eight brands of pregnancy tests on the shelf? They’re like twenty bucks per package and there’s usually at least two to a box anyway. Nobody has the money for that kind of theatric excessiveness. For another thing, if Peter _did_ take a pregnancy test, it would definitely not be in a public fucking bathroom. That’s downright gross, first of all, and second, who the fuck wants to find out if they’re gonna be a parent while hearing some stranger have a shit from the next stall down? Not fuckin’ Peter, that’s who. He has _dignity_.

But another thing is he doesn’t find this situation to be any cause for hysterics. Yes, he thinks he might be pregnant. Yes, the father isn’t the _best_ option out there for a number of reasons. Yes, Peter is _very_ young. _But,_ no matter what, it’s not the end of the world. It’s a _baby._ Those happen all the time.

Peter himself hadn’t been planned, and he’s fine. Poor as fuck, but fine.

So, Peter weighs his options. He _could_ buy a drugstore pregnancy test, but he doesn’t really want to drop twenty bucks to have a pee stick’s affirmative confirmation just to ease his conscious. Like he said before, he’s poor as fuck. But also, Peter finds that he doesn’t really need to even confirm if he’s pregnant, because, as crazy as it sounds, _it isn’t that deep._

He doesn’t need to- to- to start stockpiling diapers and building a cradle or whatever it is nesting parents do when they’re expecting.

And maybe Peter’s also a little bit ghetto at heart, as many poor people are, and half of him thinks that the baby doesn’t need anything they don’t already have at their apartment. Like, it won’t even need _clothes_. That’s another thing Peter will never understand. What the fuck does a baby need clothes for? It doesn’t have anywhere to be. That’s part of the beauty of being a baby, is that you don’t need a fucking zip-up _Mama’s Boy_ monkey-patterned fleece-lined sweatshirt. If a baby is cold, you can just _wrap it in a blanket_. And- and _building a crib?_ There’s an old pack-and-play in storage somewhere in their apartment, and the baby _certainly_ won’t need anything fancier than that. When  _Peter_ was a baby he slept in a  _laundry basket,_ for perspective.

So no, Peter doesn’t see any urgent need to _do_ anything about this maybe-pregnancy.

He doesn’t _need_ a test, because if he really is pregnant, it’ll become obvious, eventually.

Which means… well, he doesn’t even really have to _worry_ about it. He’ll stop taking testosterone and start taking prenatal vitamins, and other than that, he’ll be fine.

It’ll be like an episode of _I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant,_ where the girl is just living her life one day and then gives birth out of the blue. Except, Peter will already know he’s pregnant, so it won’t be _quite_ the same… but still. He can just… _pretend._

And so, Peter makes the conscious decision to go about life like usual, and just play this whole pregnancy thing by ear.

Which goes fine for about, oh, four months.

He’s showing by then, but he’s a boy, so people don’t look at him and think that he’s pregnant, they think he’s gained weight. Which, he _has_ , but not _that_ type of weight.

No one has said a word about it, but Peter sees them looking, trying to stare without looking like they’re staring.

 _He_ doesn’t care. If they knew the real reason, _they’d_ be embarrassed.

The only person that knows that Peter is trans is Ned, and that’s only because he told him. He hadn’t gone to school with any of the Midtown kids prior to high school, and he’d made the transition way back in middle school.

Nobody knows that Peter has a vagina, because, quite frankly, it’s none of their fucking business. People at SI don’t know either, and, again, he’s under no obligation to tell them.

So people assume that he’s getting fat, and he’s perfectly happy to let them. He's actually getting a little cocky about it, bothering less and less with loose clothes and baggy sweatshirts. People will see what they want to see, right?

So there Peter is, in a collared shirt under a sweater, and his belly is poking out but it doesn't matter because no one  _knows._

He’s waiting for the single-person bathroom to open, because he has to PEE and this one was closest.

Whoever is in there seems determined to take their _sweet_ time, but Peter has to _go_.

When the occupant finally opens the door, Peter is a little shocked to realizes that he recognizes that face. It’s the doctor from the night at the Gala.

The doctor looks equally shocked to see Peter.  
“Mr. Parker, is it?” He greets, brow lifting. “What a surprise.”

“Yeah,” Peter chuckles, edging towards the door. “I’m not usually on this floor.”

Peter can _feel_ the moment the doctor takes in the state of his belly, stretching against his shirt.

Peter realizes, with _dread,_ that the doctor is actually one of the few people in the world who _knows,_ and he can pinpoint the exact second when the doctor puts two and two together.

Peter freezes, waiting for his reaction, wondering if he’s going to say something.

A grim expression settles on the doctor’s face.

“All yours,” is all he says, stepping out of the way and walking down the hall.

Peter feels faint.

When he makes it back to the science labs, Dr. Falcon looks up.

“Hey Pete, I just got a call from HR- you’re wanted in room 21 B.”

Peter knows _exactly_ what this is about. _The doctor fucking snitched on him._

He turns to leave without a word. His hands are shaking, but mostly with anger. _They can’t prove anything._

There's a security guard outside 21 B, who stands at about the same height at the door frame itself.  


"Hi," Peter greets nervously, not sure if he's allowed to speak to security. "I was called to this room?"

"What's your name?"

"Uh, Peter Parker, sir."

"G'head," he says, nodding.

Peter feels the tension in his body double as he turns the doorknob.

It’s a small meeting room, a table that seats only six people, the back wall is a window overlooking New York.  


At the head of the table sits Obadiah Stane.

Fuck.

“Have a seat, Peter,” Stane smiles, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. Behind Stane are to more bodyguards, just as massive as the one outside. Sitting at the table on one side of Stane is a man Peter doesn’t recognize. Next to him is an older red-haired Brazilian woman Peter has seen somewhere before. On Stane’s other side is the fucking snitch-ass doctor.

Peter sits.

“Doctor Long has brought something rather troubling to my attention,” Stane begins sorrowfully.

 _Doctor Long._ Peter’s going to remember that bastard’s name.

Peter shoots him a look that promises murder.

Long doesn’t even look remotely guilty, holding Peter’s gaze resolutely.

Stane lifts up a paper, and Peter realizes with a jolt that it’s the same one he filled out in the medical wing almost five months ago.

“Female, huh?” Stane deliberates.

Peter’s hands shake. “That’s private,” he growls. “You don’t have a right to see that.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find, Mr. Parker, that I control anything created within the confines of this building,” he muses, eyes scanning over Peter’s hasty scrawl. “This document, for instance, is one.” He points at the tabletop concealing Peter’s stomach from view. “That baby is another.”

Peter blanches. “You’re so full of shit,” he snarls. “This isn’t legal.”

Obadiah smiles tightly, leaning across the table.

“Anything created by Tony Stark is legal property of Stark Industries, and I am the CEO of Stark Industries, so I think you’ll find that it _is_ legal, Mr. Parker- oh!” Stane’s smile is malicious. “I meant _Ms._ Parker, didn’t I.”

Peter seethes, jaw rolling. “Oh, _fuck_ you. What do you want from me?”

“Not much,” Stand hums flippantly. “Some paperwork and a quick procedure, and we’ll have this whole thing sorted out so we can both go our separate ways.”

“Just paperwork?” Peter huffs. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I want this over with as much as you.”

“If you’ll look at these first document with me,” the woman says, pushing a stack of papers Peter’s way. “I will tell you what these means and then you can sign it, okay?”

“What if I don’t want to sign?” Peter bites.

“You don’t have a choice,” Stane pitches in, smiling as always.

“It’s not legally binding if its signed under duress.”

“Careful, Peter,” Stane warns. “You don’t _want_ this to have to be under duress. I _can_ be mean. I believe you have an aunt?”

“Don’t you talk about her!” Peter snarls.

“Then sign the god damn paper!” Stane barks, slamming a hand on the table. It’s the first Peter’s seen him drop the friendly veneer, and it’s frightening.

He holds Stane’s stare. Their eyes burn into one another’s. Peter picks up the pen.

“Tell me what this means,” he says. His heartbeat is quick. His hairs are raised. Fuck, he doesn't like this at  _all._

“These one es saying that you will agree swear an oath of privacy, you cannot talk to anybody about these pregnancy,” the woman says.

That’s not so bad. Peter can do that. Hell, that’s what he’s _been_ doing.

 _Peter Parker,_ he carves, hard enough that he hopes it leaves a mark on their fucking table.

“Okay, next paper," the woman hums, turning the page. "These ones es saying that you will defer all medical appointments concerning the pregnancy to a private Stark Industries doctor.”

“Who?” Peter demands.

“Dr. Long.”

“Absolutely not,” Peter drops the pen and pushes the paper away.

“No?” Stane hums dangerously.

“No,” Peter spits.

“Fine then. Since we won’t be needing Dr. Long anymore...” Stane nods to one of the bodyguards. “Kill him.”

The guard draws a gun.

“What!? NO!” Peter screams, getting up only to be forced back into his seat by the second guard.

Stane holds up a hand. “Either you let Dr. Long do it or we kill him and find someone else.” Stane smiles. “It’s your choice, Peter.”

Peter looks at Dr. Long, who is glaring at Peter like he wants him dead. Like he already knows what he’ll pick.

“Dr. Long can do it, please don’t kill him,” Peter trembles, absolutely horrified. _How the fuck was this happening?_ Did he seriously have to just choose whether or not to have someone killed?

He’s crying, he realizes, and shaking. He forces himself to breathe, and that first gasp of air shudders the whole way into his lungs.

“I knew you could be reasonable,” Stane says contently, waving the guards back to the door.

Peter looks at him with horror.

“Right here, please,” the woman says, as if nothing had happened. As if this is just another day in the office for her, like she’s used to it.

The pen trembles in his hand as he writes out his name.

She snatches it away the moment he finishes, leaving only one more.

“These last one says that, following Dr. Long’s exam we have permission to terminate the pregnancy, with or without cause.”

Peter blinks, looking up.

The pen falls out of his hand.

He looks from her, to Stane, to Long.

“No.” His voice is small, but he means it.

They can kill anyone in this room except for this baby. They won’t lay a _finger_ on it.

Stane steeples his fingers together.

“You’re putting me in a difficult situation here, Peter. I don’t want to have everyone you interact with on a day-to-day basis systematically killed off, but I _will.”_

No. They won’t. They _can’t_.

“Why would you do that?” Peter chokes, shaking harder than ever. His lungs are seizing, it feels like. “You could just k-kill me.”

Stane tilts his head. “I could,” he muses. “But, it’s the principal of the thing. I don’t like being told no. If I ask you to sign the paper, then I want you to sign it. Sure, no matter what I’ll get what I want… but I want to get what I want, _how I want it._ Do you understand?” He stands up, circling around the table towards Peter. “So yes, I _could_ just shoot you and kill the baby myself, but…” he picks up the pen and slides it into Peter’s hand. “I think I’ll have you do it instead.”

Peter sobs, his knuckles going white around the pen.

“N-no, I can’t, I can’t do it,” he keens, shoulders shaking.

“How about this,” Stane muses. “Every time you tell me ‘no,’ somebody dies.”

Peter wails, lurching forward to bury his face in his hands.

“Please,” he begs. “ _Please,_ I’ll do anything else, please-” he gasps, he’s shaking and sobbing and crying and _inconsolable_ , he’s never going to feel more afraid than he does right now, like the world is ending and _he’s_ directly responsible.

There’s loud arguing on the other side of the door, Peter realizes suddenly.

 _“What do you mean, we don’t have security clearance? Is this some sort of joke!?”_ A woman’s voice barks. _“You open this door_ **_right-_ ** _”_

The security guard says something Peter can’t really make out, but the sentiment is clear. _Get lost._

 _“How_ **_dare_ ** _you-”_

 _“Pepper, it’s fine, let me handle it-”_ Peter freezes. He knows that voice. That’s Tony Stark.

There’s a high pitched zapping sound, followed by a grunt and a loud thud.

The door busts open and both security guards train handguns on Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, and a smattering of other, slightly less significant but still notably powerful people behind them.

“Hey!” Happy roars, whipping out a glock of his own and stepping forward. _“Put those down,_ **_now!_ ** _”_

“ _What_ is going _on!?!_ ” Pepper Potts shrieks.

“Everybody put the guns away!” Stane yells, raising his hands in a calming motion. “This is a huge misunderstanding, Tony-” Stane looks at his friend like he’s hoping for backup, but he’s completely ignored.

Tony locks eyes with Peter and the recognition there is instant. His head whips towards Stane as he snaps his fingers and points at Peter. “I remember him. What’s he doing in here?” He demands. Peter can almost see the wheels turning in his brain when he looks at the genius’ face.

“Peter is just having some legal troubles, nothing to worry about,” Stane soothes, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“Legal troubles?” Stark’s eyebrows raise into his hairline as he strides over to the table, spotting the papers. “Well, let’s see it, then,” he snatches up the documents, flicking to the first page, only to have it yanked away by Stane.

The look Stark gives him then can only be described as dangerous.

“I don’t think, that _Peter,_ would feel comfortable sharing something like that with you, hm?” Stane placates, raising his brows.

Tony jerks his head around to look at Peter.

“No?” He hums, his eyes scanning the boy, who’s curled up in the chair, trembling and ghost white, tear tracks down his face, eyes red and swollen. “That can’t be right. Tell me, Pete. What’s going on?”

Peter looks at Mr. Stark, tries to open his mouth, but the only thing that escapes is a small, strangled sob.

Stark turns back to Stane, looking absolutely murderous. He leans in until he’s only inches from the other man’s face.

“I swear to God,” he breathes, eyes lit like a live wire. “I swear to God, you have five seconds to explain to me what the fuck is going on, or-”

“I’m pregnant!” Peter explodes, his throat raw and scratchy from abuse.

Tony stumbles away from Stane. His back hits a wall and he knocks something over. His eyes are wide, shocked, as they fix onto Peter, scanning him.

“Oh my God,” Pepper breathes.

“Jesus _Christ_ , what a mess,” Happy curses.

“Mr. Stark, I’m pregnant,” Peter croaks, becoming hysterical, breaking down into tears again. “Look,” he pulls up his sweater to display his swollen belly straining at the buttons of his shirt, his eyes are pleading as he looks at Stark, expecting- what, his _acceptance?_ “I’m pregnant. I’m due in J-June, it’s gonna be born in June.” Peter takes a deep, rattling breath that becomes a sob. “And they’re telling me I have to kill the baby, Mr. Stark, they said I have to kill it but I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I _can’t-_ ” he breaks off in another hysterical sob, “I can’t _do it,_ I can’t,” Peter lurches forward, his arms curling around his stomach, tears dripping onto his lap. “But they said I have to or they’re gonna kill everybody,” his voice rises with his panic. “They said they’re gonna kill my _aunt-”_

Someone actually gasps.

“-But I can’t kill my baby,” he wails, rocking himself in his seat and sounding so, so, devastated. “Please don’t make me do it, I can’t, I can’t,” he whimpers. “It’s gonna be born in June.”

Everyone in the room is staring at Stane, waiting for him to say something to defend himself.

“The boy is- _delusional-_ ” Stane begins, chuckling flippantly.

“Is he?” Stark interrupts, unforgiving. “Jarvis, pull up security feed.”

_“My feed has been temporarily disabled in this room, sir.”_

“Really,” Stark seethes, looking at Stane.

The room is absolutely silent, waiting. Stane opens his mouth, searching for an excuse, but they know. He has none.

“I don’t believe this,” Stark growls. “Someone call the fucking police and get him the _fuck_ out of my god damn tower. _NOW!_ ” He stalks forward and rips the papers out of Stane’s hand and one of Stark’s bodyguards throws him in handcuffs, wrestling him out of the room. “I want my lawyer down here in fifteen seconds, _where the_ **_fuck_** _is my lawyer!?_ Pepper! Is he on his way!?”

“He’s on the elevator now, he’ll be here in 57 seconds.”

“Happy, I want a security detail on every person in this room, don’t leave a single thing out. I want to know _who they are_ , I want to know _what they do_ , I want to know _what time they brush their teeth at night_ do you fucking understand me!?! Somebody call HR, who the fuck hired these people! _Are the police on their way yet?_ Jarvis, what’s their ETA!?”

“ETA three minutes, sir.”

Fuck, even Jarvis sounds worried. No one has ever seen Stark this angry before, there are people _running_ to follow his instructions, talking on the phone frantically, yelling out orders to their employees. People are called in and rushed out, and within a minute a constant stream of in-and-out has the room packed. The place is in chaos, and Tony Starker is at its center, commanding it, barking out orders like a drill sergeant.

“Happy! I want you to go meet the police! This whole building had better be shut down, nobody fucking leaves! Where’s the head of the IT department!? I want Obie’s computer _swept,_ and I want to know what the fuck is on it!”

“Tony, your lawyer,” Pepper calls.

“Great.” Stark thrusts the documents at him. “I want your team on these papers, I need a full report. Everything on there had better be entirely analyzed and broken down to the _fucking_ _letter_ within two hours, or _I swear to god_ , _every single one of you is fucking fired._ Go.”

Stark turns as the lawyer trips away, looking frantic. His head snaps around at something one of the managers says to one of his employees. “Are you fucking shitting me right now!? Did you seriously just tell her to get you a coffee? Get the _fuck_ out!”

People stare as the man flees, ghost white.

 _“Is anyone else feeling thirsty!?”_ Stark screams, looking around at the room gone silent. “No!? Then either _get back to work_ or get a _different fucking job!_ I don’t have time for any _fucking_ bullshit!”

Pepper strides over to Stark, moving to block him from zeroing in on his next victim. “Tony,” Pepper says quietly. “You need to take a step back. This doesn’t make it better.”

“Yes it fucking does, I-”

“ _Tony._ I just watched you fire an office manager.”

“Because he had the balls to tell that girl to get him a _fucking coffee,_ while we’re in the middle of a fucking _lockdown-_ ”

“Okay,” Pepper nods enthusiastically. “I completely understand, Tony, but I also know that what you’re doing right now isn’t healthy.”

“Not healthy.”

“No.” Pepper shakes her head firmly, looking Stark right in the eye. “You have a lot to process, okay, you’re under a lot of stress, you just need to take a minute.”

“Take a minute?” Stark repeats, clarifying. “You want me to take a minute, right now.”

 _“Yes,”_ Pepper stresses. “You need to calm down. You did a good job, you did what needed to be done, but you need to let other people handle the rest.”

“And I do, what, exactly?”

“Talk to Peter.”

Stark’s eyes flick over to Peter, still huddled in his chair, eyes blank.

“He’s scared, Tony. He’s alone. You need to talk to him. I’ll handle everything else. Can you trust me to do that?”

Stark sighs, resigned. “Yeah. Yeah okay.”

“Thank you,” Pepper smiles softly, before turning and raising her voice to the chaos around them. “Everyone, I need you to stop what you’re doing and clear the room!” She commands sharply. “Right now, everybody outside!”

People start streaming out of the door as quickly as they came in, with Pepper herding them out.

Peter jerks, seeming to realize that everyone is leaving. His eyes go to Tony.

There's a moment of silence when the last person leaves and it's just Peter and Tony left in the room, watching each other.

Tony walks over to Peter and sits at the edge of the conference table directly in front of him.

“I want you to know,” Tony says, after a minute, “that I think you’re incredible. You were so strong, even when you had nobody in your corner, and you spoke out against him, after what happened. You were so brave.”

Peter’s eyes are wide. Tony takes a step towards him.

“I’m really proud of you, Peter.”

Peter swallows thickly. “I’m sorry I-”

“It’s okay,” Stark interrupts. “You don’t have to explain. I’m not upset. Not with you.”

Peter looks sad. “I’m sorry about your friend, then. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

Tony looks off to the side.

“It sucks,” he murmurs softly. “But, it’s okay. I’m mostly worried about you. Are you okay?” He brushes his knuckles along Peter’s cheekbone gently.

“I’m…” Peter’s voice breaks. “I didn’t tell anybody. Dr. Long figured it out and ran to Mr. Stane, but I didn’t- I didn’t tell anybody.”

“So you’ve been alone, this whole time?”

“I mean, I live with my aunt, but I didn’t _tell_ her, and she works a lot so I don’t really see her, and my best friend knows I’m trans but I didn’t tell him either, I’ve just been- kinda ignoring it, I guess.”

“You’ve been ignoring the fact that you’re… having a baby,” Tony clarifies.

Peter shrinks in on himself a little. “A bit, yeah,” he mumbles, chastised.

Tony huffs out a breath. “Okay. So, here’s how it’s gonna go. We’re going to _not_ ignore this issue anymore, we’re going to go about this like proper adults, we’re going to see doctors, gynecologists, obstetricians, and- and whatever _else_ we need to get done before this baby gets here in… June? Was it?”

“Yeah.”

“June. So that’s four months we have to prepare. Fuck. Is that enough time?”

“I mean… _I_ figured it would be…. I always thought the whole… ‘nine months’ thing was a little... excessive.”

Tony stares at him, eyebrows climbing up his forehead and he lets out a light, disbelieving laugh.

“You’re something else, you know that?” He murmurs, shaking his head. “Lordy. You’re already giving me heart problems, kid.”

Peter swallows thickly. "I don't know, how you feel, about... you know...."

"A baby?"

"Well, yeah. I just- I know it's a lot, and if you don't want to be a part of-"

"Hey hey hey, calm down. I'll be around. I'll help. A baby is- well I didn't  _plan_ this, obviously- but it's nothing I can't  _handle._ Genius, remember?" He teases, tapping the side of his head.

"So you're not angry at me?"

"No," Stark groans, "I  _told_ you, kid- you're not at fault. You didn't plan this either."

A flash of guilt fills Peter's gut. "Well...." he trails off, thinking that he is, at  _least_ a little bit at fault. He  _did_ want it, even so much as to avoid preventative measures. An that night, when they'd..."

"Wait.  _Did_ you?" Stark falters, alarmed.

"No!" Peter yelps. "Not like- I-" Peter hangs his head. "Okay, full disclosure, I remembered the morning after that we didn't use a condom or anything, but I didn't take any Plan B because I-" Peter swallows, stares at the floor. "Because I- I.... Isortoflikedtheidea."

"Come again?"

"I liked... the idea.... that I might get pregnant." Peter winces.

Tony goes completely still.

"I mean, I really thought I wasn't going to anyway, because I was on Testosterone to stop my period and I mean- it's not  _birth_ _control,_ but it kind of is. So I figured I was safe, but... I didn't  _want_ to be, so I... I didn't take any Plan B, and if I had, well maybe.... anyway, it  _is_ kind of my fault, is what I'm saying."

Tony seems to need to have a moment to process this. "Wait, I'm hearing this correctly? You  _wanted_ me to knock you up?"

Peter, breath hitches and a flush spreads over his skin.

"Don't say it like that," he whines, on the verge of panting.

"Why?" He asks sharply. "Isn't it true?"

Peter bows his head. "Yes, sir," he mumbles.

Stark's eyes go dark and hungry. "Oh, you  _bad_ little boy," he murmurs, eyes flicking over Peter's face.

“Sorry, daddy,” Peter apologizes shyly.

Stark’s breathing hitches.

“What was that, baby?” He hums, leaning forward, his skin flushing a little.

Peter looks up through his lashes and drags the chair forward, so he’s between Stark's legs.

He reaches down underneath for the lever and pulls it, letting the chair sink into the lowest setting.

“I’m sorry daddy,” Peter repeats, placing trembling hands on Stark’s thighs and resting them there. “Please, let me make it up to you?” He licks his lips.

Stark lets out a deep breath. “Okay, baby,” he rasps, running a hand through Peter’s hair.

Peter opens the front of Stark’s slacks with shaking, clumsy fingers and pulls his cock out, letting it rest over his zipper.

“It’s big, daddy” Peter gulps, stroking it nervously, watching a bead of precome pool at the tip.

"That's right, doll," Stark pants, watching him through hooded eyed. "It can barely fit inside you, isn't that right?"

Peter gasps, his cunt clenches at the memory.

Stark watches Peter with black eyes, his fingers curling into Peter’s hair and drawing him down to level with his prick.

He pushes Peter’s hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own.

He sets the head of his dick on Peter’s lower lip and smears precome over it like lip gloss.

“There you go pretty boy, open up for me wide,” Stark growls.

Peter hangs his jaw and lets his eyelids flutter down, drooping enough that Mr. Stark becomes hazy through his eyelashes.

“Oh, _there_ he is,” Mr. Stark croons, tightening the fingers in his hair. “That’s my pretty little boy.” He strokes his tip over Peter's lower lip again and again.

Peter starts panting, his skin tingling in excitement. There’s blood rushing into his cheeks and his chest, his shirt suddenly feels like a furnace.

Mr. Stark has yet to stop rubbing his cockhead along Peter’s lower lip. “Stick your tongue out for me gorgeous, _oh,_ aren’t you a peach,” he moans as Peter rushes to comply, his mouth watering at his words.

There’s a pulse in Peter’s groin and he gasps, visibly clenching his legs and rocking his hips up, desperate for friction.

Mr. Stark pets Peter’s tongue with his tip.

“Look at you, you’re all ready for me, aren’t you… you want your little cunt filled up again, boy? Is that what you want?”

Peter whimpers, his hips rocking faster, his legs trembling as he squeezes them together.

“Look at you, look how badly your body wants sex…” He pushes his dick into Peter's mouth, controlling the boy's head with a hand in his hair.

Peter jerks and he _squirms,_ eyes welling up in desperation.

“You liked being fucked open by my cock, didn’t you?Tell me.”

“Yes, daddy,” Peter chokes as he comes up for air, rocking into the chair leather. “You’re so big- you fucked me so hard- I felt you for _weeks- ah!_ You filled me up so g-ood-” He sucks Mr. Stark back into his mouth, pulling him deep.

“And what happened after I came inside your pussy, huh?”

Peter whimpers, his fists clenching around fistfuls of Tony’s slacks, his legs spreading wide and his hips angling down so he can hump the seat of the chair with his clitoris while he suckles at Mr. Stark’s cock.

Stark yanks him off by his hair, wrenching his head back. _“Tell me what happened, Peter,”_ he snarls.

“I got pregnant!” Peter sobs. “Oh my _god-_ ”

Tony shoves his dick down Peter’s throat, gagging him.

“That’s right,” Tony growls. “You got _fucking_ pregnant. Is that want you wanted, Peter? Wanted daddy to fill you up, give you a baby?”

Peter moans helplessly around Tony’s cock, tears welling in his eyes when he thrusts into the back of his throat.

“Look at you, so fucking pretty- you gonna come on my chair, Peter?”

Peter nods, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Not yet, you’re not,” Mr. Stark growls fucking his hips up into Peter’s mouth. “First you’re gonna suck me off, aren’t you?”

“Mmm-hmm,” comes Peter’s muffled reply.

“I think that’s a good way to say thank you, don’t you? Show daddy you’re grateful for putting a baby inside you, huh?”

All Peter can do is try to breathe through his nose while Tony uses him, his eyes rolling back into his head in ecstasy at Mr. Stark’s words and his hips rutting down helplessly into the chair, moaning over and over.

“Look up at me, doll. Let me see those pretty brown eyes,” Stark instructs, petting his cheek with his thumb.

Peter looks up as more tears drip down, dazed. His vision is blurry and his eyelids droop in bliss.

 _“Fuck,”_ Mr. Stark hisses, pulling Peter off his cock and beginning to jerk off in his face. “Stay right there, sweetheart.”

Peter doesn’t think, just tips his head back and opens his mouth, waiting.

Mr. Stark comes with a growl, hips jerking as he pumps his spend out onto Peter’s tongue.

 _“Fuck,_ that’s it, how’s that taste baby?” He pants, rubbing his tip into Peter’s tongue, spreading the come over it. “You like that?”

Peter whimpers and closes his lips over the head, sucking.

“Fuck!” Stark yanks his cock away from the overstimulation of Peter’s mouth.

Peter whines at the loss, squirming into the chair desperately.

“Daddy,” he cries, unable to climax.

“Come here, baby boy,” Stark croons, pulling Peter onto his lap, back-to-chest. He spreads Peter’s legs on either side of his and snakes one arm between Peter’s legs, pushing his hand down the front of Peter’s jeans to pet his pussy.

Peter’s head lolls back against Mr. Stark's shoulder as he lets out soft little moans at the man’s gentle ministrations.

Tony’s other arm slips beneath his shirt to rest over his swollen belly, caressing over it lovingly.

“Such a good boy,” Stark hums. He manages with difficulty to get two fingers in his cunt, stroking and curling them inside.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Peter pants, his hips jerking.

“Look at you, such a sweetheart. You did such a good job, making daddy feel good,” Tony rumbles into his hear. Peter shudders, his breathing frantic.

“Come on, sweetheart, you’re so close. You ready to come, yet?”

“Yes, daddy,” Peter moans, pressing his face into the side of Mr. Stark’s neck.

“Good boy,” he growls. “Go ahead and come, now.”

Peter does, his body seizes and jerks and trembles, his vagina pulsing over and over and over as Mr. Stark’s fingers work him through it.

“Thank you daddy, thank you,” Peter gasps and cries, hips pumping down into Mr, Stark's hand. “Oh my _god. Thank you!"_ He sobs.

Mr. Stark pulls his hand out of Peter’s pants slowly. He pushes his fingers into Peter’s mouth so the boy can suck the taste of himself off.

“You’re very welcome, baby.”

Mr. Stark stands up, setting Peter on his feet gently.

Peter looks up at him nervously, suddenly shy.

Mr. Stark smiles darkly and cups Peter’s cheek, pulling him in for a slow, wet kiss.

Peter’s heart rate picks up again, lungs stuttering.

By the time they pull apart he’s panting, and Mr. Stark looks hungry.

"I want you to wait for me in my penthouse," he rasps, his dark eyes glittering with promise. He presses a key card into Peter’s hand and, without waiting for a response, turns around and leaves.

  
Needless to say, Pepper was right. Tony Stark is in a _much_ better mood after that.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...... and all it took was a blowjob >:)
> 
> I thought that the porn was going to be my favorite part of writing this chapter, but then I got to that scene where Tony Stark goes absolute fucking apeshit and makes everyone in the entire company simultaneously piss themselves in sheer terror. I’m still not sure which one is hotter, fuck.
> 
> I feel like I owe an apology, this took longer than I thought. Basically what happened was, I thought I was writing this chapter but I was writing the next chapter because this one got WAY too long. The good news is, I've got a pretty lit start on my next jawn, and HARLEY is coming!!!!! Buckle ur mfn seatbelts yung buhls, this gon get hypeeee
> 
> Anyways, if you liked it, hit KUDOS, if you want to see more, hit SUBSCRIBE, and if you want to be a real one, drop me a COMMENT because I LOVE hearing what people think. TYSM ILY!!!
> 
> -Squid


	4. Harley wants Peter OUT OF HIS SWAMP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe y’all non-latinas have never actually seen these but maybe u have: u know those spanish channel soap operas ur older female relatives watch???  
> The ones with a ton of yelling and backstabbing and those *GASP*s where the camera just zooms in on the ladies shocked faces when the tea spills?  
> Yeah. that, but with white ppl  
> Enjoy >:)

Peter doesn’t know what to do when he reaches the penthouse.

He doesn’t know what he’s  _ supposed  _ to be doing. What’s expected of him.

He can’t just go  _ looking around _ Tony Stark’s house, because,  _ rude, _ but he doesn’t feel bad about exploring the immediate area at a face level. There’s a foyer area that leads only to the elevator but opens up into a wide, open floor plan eating, cooking, and sitting area. The walls are all glass, and there’s that same incredible view from before, of the entire city stretching out so far that the horizon becomes foggy before the city limit becomes clear. Stark Tower is the fifth tallest building in the city, fourth if you don’t count the Freedom Tower, which Peter doesn’t because it’s way out in the Financial District.

Peter tears his eyes away from the view to look around at the rooms. From what he understands, the floors below this one are also part of the penthouse, and contains a massive fancy kitchen and bar, living room, library/office, entertainment room, dining room, gaming room, guest rooms, pool and hot tub, gym, balcony and bathrooms that are all spacious and decked out with giant ornamental fixtures expected of a billionaire’s house. This is, Peter believes, his ‘facade house,’ where he brings his guests and friends and fuck buddies and throws house parties. This is where he had brought Peter the night of the Gala. Then, there’s the place above that, where Peter is  _ now. _

This is a much smaller, much less showy (but still extremely cool and high-tech) living space. There isn’t a game room or a library or a pool, but there’s a sunken living room with a massive TV, there’s a walkthrough galley kitchen with an island  _ and  _ bar seating, there’s a sleek dining table overlooking the view, there’s a balcony with furniture around a fire pit on one side and a rectangular hot tub on the other, and a floating glass staircase leading to what is presumably the master bedroom. Peter’s pretty sure that this is where Mr. Stark  _ actually lives, _ and he has  _ very _ high suspicions that not a lot of people are invited up here. It feels intimate, somehow, to be allowed to know that there's a side to Mr. Stark that is more comfortable with a smaller, less empty living space. A space more suited to someone who lives alone. Peter wonders if he gets lonely, in the big house below.

Peter also isn’t sure why  _ he  _ was instructed to come to this place, and feels a little honored at having been allowed.

It’s probably, he decides, because he’s pregnant with Mr. Stark’s baby, but there’s another, more hopeful part of Peter that prays that it’s because Mr. Stark is deciding to trust him.

After all, not many people would let a sixteen-year-old boy loose in the private living space of a billionaire, even if said sixteen-year-old  _ were  _ pregnant with their baby.

God, Peter can hardly believe this is his life now.

And the way Mr. Stark had  _ looked  _ at him- it’s enough to get his heartbeat going, enough to make him tense up in nervous energy that builds until he’s jittery.

Peter circles around the living room, finding a bathroom near the kitchen where he scrubs his face with cold water.

Fuck, he’s nervous.

It’s easier initiating sex when you’re drunk or having a moment, but to just…. sit around, wait for Mr. Stark to come?

Terrifying.

He gargles water around in his mouth and makes sure he smells okay and scrutinizes his taste in clothing.

He remembers to go pee, as well, because it’ll prevent him from getting a UTI from their earlier messing around.

God-  _ messing around.  _ It sounds so- so  _ teenager-y. _ Not something you do with mature, adult, experienced, gorgeous, rich playboys like Tony Stark.

Peter stresses about his own childishness until he’s in his own face in the mirror, undressing his every flaw.

God, what was he _thinking???_ ** _Tony Stark!?_** That’s _so_ out of his league!! He’s a ten, and Peter is…. A four, on a good day. That’s a pretty big gap.

But then he remembers Mr. Stark’s hungry eyes and his body becomes smushy and he sinks into the couch cushions in the living room and thinks about Mr. Stark calling him pet names and rubbing his belly and it’s  _ sweet. _

It’s sweet that he’s willing to try this with Peter even though they don’t  _ really  _ know each other.

Peter’s cheeks flush at the recently transpired events and he feels himself getting excited.

Then the elevator dings and the doors slide open and Peter jolts in his seat and tries to school his face into anything even remotely appealing as he prepares for Mr. Stark to came strolling in but-

“Hello Peter, I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet,” Ms. Potts says, coming over to where he’s sitting as he leaps to his feet.

_ Where is Mr. Stark? What’s **she** doing here?  _

“Ms. Potts!” Peter squeaks.

“Feel free to call me Pepper,” she smiles, shaking his hand.

“Peter Parker,” Peter introduces nervously.

“Pleased to meet you. How are you feeling? I imagine this has been quite the day for you.”

“Y-yeah, it has…” Peter agrees, thinking that, only this morning, he’d been playing Crossy Road on the subway to school. A lifetime ago.

“I feel really bad to ask you this, but there’s a lot of things going on that you could really help out with, if that’s okay?” She asks regretfully.

“Oh, of course!”

“Great. We have to go back downstairs, though. Tony’s tied up himself at the moment, there’s just so much to be  _ done  _ and- well, I appreciate your time.”

“It’s really nothing, Ms. Potts.”

“It  _ is  _ something,” Ms. Potts chides as they step on to the elevator. “Also, someone leaked to the media about this, so now your face is all over the news. We have our best lawyers working on stopping them, but the story is out, now.”

“Oh,” Peter pales. He hopes Aunt May doesn’t see it anytime soon.  _ That  _ would be chaotic.

“We also need you to tell the police what happened  _ and  _ talk to the legal team about how you and Mr. Stark are going to work out parenting  _ and  _ we  _ really _ need to get you scheduled for an OB-GYN, among lots of other things… I really appreciate your cooperation on this, Peter. If you need a break at any time please tell me or have someone let me know so that I can have everything moved around, your comfort is really a top priority so don’t be afraid to speak up. Until then I’d like to get as much done as possible before news reporters start doing their  _ own  _ investigating, because that is  _ not  _ what we want.”

Peter blinks. It doesn’t sound like she’s even planning to  _ sleep  _ tonight, and he feels instantly guilty. He needs to do what he can to help out, and if that means not getting to see Mr. Stark for a while… then that’s perfectly fine.

She leads him to the room where Stane had interrogated him, which is now full of police officers who are speaking with Mr. Stark’s head of security.

“Hey kid,” Mr. Hogan greets.

“Hello, sir.” The police officers are all looking at him, now.

Peter’s mind goes to the chair where one of them is sitting, where he had sucked Mr. Stark’s dick.  _ Dios Mio, _ he prays they didn’t leave a mess on the seat.

“Alright sit down, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave,” Mr. Hogan says briskly.

Peter sits down quickly, and the process begins.

He tells them what happened, from when he bumped into the doctor until Mr. Stark breaking down the door, because Happy had already filled in the rest after that point.

They talk to him about pressing charges, which Happy announced would be handled by SI, though he asked if Peter would like to add anything to the long,  _ long  _ list of charges- many of which were things he didn’t even think were actually legit. Feeling a little overwhelmed, Peter asks to think about it, and Happy calls Pepper and has her move her on to his next….  _ ‘appointment’ _ .

There’s a tall black woman with long braids twisted artfully into a bun who coaches Peter on what he  _ can  _ and  _ can’t  _ tell the press.

They go over his story and the best ways to phrase things and how to answer difficult questions like  _ ‘Mr. Parker, would you say that you coerced Tony Stark into impregnating you in order to get access to his money?’ _

Which was an actual question one of the reporters had asked him.

Ms. Potts had had the man removed from the premises, but he wasn’t the only one that had managed to sneak in and attempt to ambush Peter.

Ms. Potts had  _ also  _ said that a press conference would probably be necessary.

There’s also a man who spends two hours with Peter going over what his ‘look’ is going to be, what clothes he should or shouldn’t wear out in public. Star Wars and math pun t-shirts were a  _ no, _ NY Mets t-shirts were a  _ no, _ and  _ definitely  _ no t-shirts advertising the name of his school. Anything that gave a hint to his age or his origins was a hard solid  _ no. _ Basically, Peter’s entire wardrobe. He’s  _ especially  _ salty about the Mets shirts though, because baseball season is in full swing (haha full SWING geddit) and he feels obligated to show his colors. Not only that, but he and Ned had already planned to see the Braves @ Mets game in two weeks, and now he’s not even sure if he’ll be allowed to  _ go. _

By the time Ms. Potts comes to get Peter from the meeting, both he and the wardrobe guy are frustrated and irritable.

“Are you ready for another meeting or do you need to rest?” Ms. Potts asks.

“No, I can do another meeting,” Peter assures. He really  _ does  _ need to rest, but- he feels so guilty about this whole thing blowing up that at this point he has obligations towards Ms. Potts that he can only  _ start  _ repaying now.

“Okay good! I think you’ll like this one,” she smiles, leading him onto the elevator again. When they get off he’s face to face with-

“Mr. Stark!” Peter gasps.

Stark’s brows go up when he spots Peter, pulling away from a small horde of co-workers who had been evidently hounding him just now, and he looks the opposite of displeased to see the boy.

He immediately wraps an arm around Peter, guiding him down the hallway, away from the well-dressed businessmen he had just been talking to.

“Hey guys, we’ll chat later, I’ve got more important things to  _ attend  _ to-” he starts to say, but Ms. Potts cuts him off.

“As important as those things  _ must be, _ I’m afraid you both have an appointment to be at,” she huffs, herding them to a sparsely populated hallway.

“Aw,  _ Pep, _ c’mon it’s been-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Tony!” Pepper groans, pushing him through a door. “Here you are, this is Dr. Richmond, she’s an OB-GYN.”

“Hello,” Dr. Richmond smiles kindly, and Peter instantly likes her.

Her hair is dyed dark red and kept natural, cut fashionably in a fade on the sides with longer  two strand twists on top of her head, giving her an appearance of elegance. Her skin has a healthy glow, and her smile is absolutely radiant.

She has big mom vibes, despite only looking maybe about thirty years old.

“Hi,” Peter blushes shyly.

“I didn’t realize we were doing this  _ today, _ ” Mr. Stark mumbles to Pepper out of the side of his mouth.

“The sooner the better,” she huffs, pushing him forward. “I’ll be back when you’re finished.

Peter decides pretty quickly that Dr. Richmond is one of his favorite people. She’s  _ so  _ nice,  _ so  _ patient, she answers all of Peter’s questions, and, best of all- she does an ultrasound so Peter can look at the baby.

It’s barely more than a blurred mess of maybe-limbs if you tilt your head this way and that, but it  _ moves,  _ something that Peter hadn’t been expecting.

He might have cried, a little.

He’s too nervous to look over and see what Mr. Stark thinks, though. He’s been awfully quiet.

What if he’s…… y’know, disgusted? It’s not much to look at right now, that’s for sure. In fact, Peter himself doesn’t think the baby looks cute by any means through the grainy footage, so how could he expect Mr. Stark to?

“So, would you like to know the gender?” Dr. Richardson asks.

“No!” Peter yelps before she can even fully ask the question.

Dr. Richmond blinks.

“Sorry, I just wanted it to be a surprise,” Peter mumbles.

“That’s fine,” Dr. Richmond hums. “Well, that’s probably good for your first appointment. You boys are free to go."

There’s a nurse who gives Peter copies of the ultrasound photos.

“So kid, was it everything you’d hoped for and more?” Mr. Stark teases, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders as they leave.

Peter doesn’t know what to say, he’s still kind of choked up from before.

“Definitely more,” is what Peter settles on.

“It was certainly informative. For one, ultrasound technology is absolutely repulsive. I could build a better one with a toaster oven, for Chrissakes. In fact, I think I will, and you can quote me on that. ‘Stark Industries releases new line of prenatal technology.’ Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Y-”

"Tony!" Pepper’s voice cuts Peter off and they both turn their heads to see her speed walking towards them.

Tony's veers around to face her. "Hi," he says.

"Tony, we have a situation, and you need to come with me right now-"

"Uh oh, you look disappointed in me, did I do something bad?"

"I am disappointed in you, and yes you did " Pepper says briskly.

"Okay, come on Peter, apparently we're taking the scenic route," Tony says, tucking Peter more firmly into his side to tug him along.

Pepper shoots him a look. "I wouldn't be joking around right now, and I'm not so sure that's a good idea." She sends a pointed look at Peter.

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"You're going to find out in just a second."

"That doesn't sound fun."

"It's not."

"I should stay," Peter hesitates, beginning to pull away from Tony's grasp.

"No no, it's fine, kid. Can't be there worst thing I've ever done."

"Yes it can!" Pepper contradicts over her shoulder, already leading the way.

"Apparently it can," Tony corrects, trailing after her.

Apparently it _ is, _ judging by the look on Stark's face when they finally see what all the fuss is about.

They'd arrived in another conference room, this one containing only a blonde kid, about Peter's age, maybe a bit older, leaning against a table, waiting.

“He came in about half an hour ago, they’re still verifying his credibility,” Pepper explains.

_ "Harley?"  _ Mr. Stark gapes, stopping. "What are you doing here?"

The boy stands up, walking over. “Hi,” he says nervously. “You remember me, then,” he shuffles his feet nervously. “I know we haven’t spoken since- but I have to tell you- have to  _ explain _ .” The boy looks a little freaked out, and Peter feels sorry for him. He looks worse off than Peter, honestly.

Mr. Stark waits for him to continue, looking uneasy.

“I-” Harley starts. His eyes go to Peter.“The thing that happened to him-” he juts his chin at Peter “-happened to me, too.” As if that explains anything.

“Yeah, gonna need to clear that one up a little.  _ What? _ ” Stark huffs faintly.

Harley looks frustrated. “The thing that happened with him, that’s all over the news! That Stane is arrested!” He elaborates. “It happened to me last year, that time when we- ya’know,” Harley trails off, looking at Mr. Stark expectantly.

Stark looks a little queasy. “Can you just say what you’re trying to say? Because all this guessing, fill-in-the-blanks is making me nervous.”

“Do you really not get it?” Harley groans. “I’ll just- let me show you, then.”

He walks around the table, to the one chair faced away from the door, which has a black plastic carrier of some sort sitting on it. He leans down, lifting something out of it carefully and lays against his chest gently, turning so they can see what it is.

And _by **God**_ , it's a fucking baby

“This is my son,” he says.

Peter stops breathing. No way. There’s  _ no way. _

“I got pregnant with him from my time with you last year, and I didn’t tell you because I ran away to Tennessee after Stane tried to have us both killed, multiple times.”

No fucking way this is happening right now.

Stark sways precariously where he stands. “Right,” he gets out.

“Maybe he should sit,” Ms. Potts sounds alarmed, eyeing the way Mr. Stark’s sense of balance seems to have left him entirely.

“No no,” I’m fine, Mr. Stark reassures. Then his eyes roll back in his head and he keels over backwards.

“Tony!” Ms. Potts yelps as Happy catches him.

“Chair,” Happy grunts, taking Stark's full weight.

“No chair! It’s fine!” Mr. Stark slurs, scrambling to get his feet under him. “I’m just gonna..... step out, for a sec.” He flees from the room on unsteady feet, Happy following after him anxiously.

“Tony!” Ms. Potts grits, following behind.

“I need a drink, Pepper!” Stark announces loudly without turning around.

Pepper argues quietly the whole way out the door, and just like that, Peter’s alone in the room with Harley.

Harley looks Peter up and down, dubiously. “So, you’re the talk o’ the town, huh?”

Peter really can’t find the words to talk to this kid. “I guess,” he gets out. Fuck. This guy is really holding a whole ass  _ baby. _

“Don’t bother pretendin’ to be modest. I know you’re eatin’ all this up,” Harley rolls his eyes.

“Uhm,  _ what? _ ”

“Look. You’ve got it made, I get it. Just don’t go tryin’ to pull all that same ‘innocence’ crap that you fed the media on  _ me _ . Come on. Did you think you were special, or something?” Harley sneers, making Peter flinch. “Or did you actually think you were the first kid to get knocked up by Tony Stark?”

Peter hesitates. That  _ is  _ what he’d thought.

Harley snorts. “Oh, come  _ on. _ Don’t gimme that crap. I know exactly what you want from someone like Tony Stark.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter is so confused. What is it Harley thinks he knows about him?

“What’s your  _ endgame, _ Parker? Money? Fame?”

“Nothing!” What is this guy’s  _ deal? _

“Uh huh,” Harley snaps. “Look, cut it out, okay? I came all the way up North to try to make a better life for my son, because he deserves a father, so don’t you  _ dare  _ try pullin’ anything to keep the attention on  _ yourself _ .”

“Dude, what the fuck is your problem?” Peter snaps. “What do you think this is, a  _ contest?” _

_“ **Isn’t** it!?”_ Keener snarls.

“ _No_! I didn’t fucking _ask_ for this!”

“Oh, uh huh,  _ yeah _ ,” Keener laughs.

“What the fuck is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a dirty fucking **gold digger** ,” Keener growls.

“You don’t even  _ fucking  _ know me!” Peter seethes, fists balling.

“And yet, you’re already showing your true colors,” Keener snorts. “What’re you gonna do, Parker? You gonna fight me? While I’m holding a baby? You really are  _ sick,  _ aren’t you.”

“ _ You’re  _ sick, why would you even say that about me!?” Peter is so mad he’s tearing up, which is both embarrassing and bad for winning arguments. It’s a show of weakness, one that Keener takes advantage of.

_ “Why would you ever even  _ **_think_ ** _ that,”  _ he mocks Peter’s choked up voice and mimes crying. “Shut  _ up _ ,” he adds viciously.

“Fuck you!” Peter screams, frustrated. What did he even  _ do?  _ This guy is an  _ asshole,  _ a total, complete asshole.

The baby jerks awake at Peter’s voice and starts crying.

They both freeze, the infant’s cries grounding them from the argument. Harley shoots Peter a glare that could melt glaciers, one that says  _ this is your fault  _ and _you're a_ _ monster. _

“Just stay the fuck out of my way,” he snarls, shoving into Peter’s shoulder as he storms out, taking the sound of the infants’ cries with him.

Peter doesn’t know how long he stays there, after that.

He goes over to one of the chairs and slumps over in it, defeated.

He knows he cries. A lot.

This is all a little much for him, right now.

He calls his aunt, but it goes to voicemail. She’s at work. She probably doesn’t even know yet. She rarely watches the news.

Peter flips through his baby pictures as Keener’s words ring through his head.

_ You’re a dirty fucking gold digger. _

Is he? Hadn’t he thought, in passing, about the child support checks he could get from someone like Tony Stark? Does that make him a gold digger?

Peter feels a surge of nausea overcome him.

Maybe Keener is  _ right. _ Maybe he  _ is. _

Horror creeps its way into his gut.

He’s not in it for the _money_. That much **needs** to become clear. He needs to  _ make  _ it clear.

It's a thought that pounds his heart harder, startles him to his feet, gut churning. He has to tell Mr. Stark.

So Peter goes to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo guys- sorry for not updating, that was lame of me. I haven't been taking my Adderall, which really screwed up my ability to stay motivated. Anyway, I'm back on it, so there will be a part two of this chapter VERY SOON with EVEN MORE DRAMA. Lmk what yous think in the comments PLEASE and thank you!!!


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